The Night before Life Goes on
by ToWonderIfOnly
Summary: Post: "Mind Games." Megan has saved thousands of lives, and as that night fades into morning, she realizes the only one she couldn't save was the one that mattered most.


Her finger slips from the trigger, as the blood pools in her fist and loosens her grasp. She fumbles with the grip until her fingers once again meet the trigger, and she squeezes, flinching when her eyes are met with a flash. When her ears finally register the sound, her entire body is deafened by the ring of the gunshot and the sight of the fallen man who long dreamed of feeling the life leave her body.

She exhales as the man she once imprisoned uses his dwindling energy to gasp for air, a sense of relief and safety relaxing her body. She searches for Peter's arms to melt into, finally giving into the craving she's denied herself for the past two years. She searches for him - his ruggedly strong chest where she'll rest her head, held in place by the arms that will gently protect her from the evils he's just ensured are no longer a threat. She reaches for the warmth of his body and the distinct smell of cologne that dances with the sweet smell of sweat brought upon by his dedication to keeping her alive. She searches for her partner, but he isn't there.

The unconscious sense of confusion lifts the inevitable shock, as her eyes scan the balcony for the man she undeniably loves. A shimmering reflection catches her eye, and when her gaze falls to her feet, she finds a company of lights dancing circles around a crimson pool flowing from the gaping hole presented prominently on his chest.

She throws the gun she doesn't realize she's clutching and drops to her knees, her pants immediately saturated with his blood. She feels the warm liquid hug her legs as she instinctually pulls his stiffened body into her lap.

The shards of glass that protrude from her partner scrape holes in her jacket, bringing with them an overwhelming feeling of guilt that washes over her with the memory of the reason he threw himself through a window. All he wanted was to protect her. All he ever wanted was to protect her, and now all she wants is to protect him, too.

"Peter!" Megan chokes, the terrified look in his eyes burning a hole into hers. She shoves her hands into the pool of blood at his chest that's been torn apart by the tool Megan's pursuer pushed through him. All Wilson wanted was to kill Megan, and somewhere deep inside his twisted mind, even he knew killing Peter would ultimately be killing her, too.

Megan feels the blood squeeze through the cracks of her fingers as she forces every ounce of power in her little frame onto him to stop the bleeding. She watches his terrified eyes become overcome with a fog, and a tear slips down her cheek when a blurred grey chases away the blue in his eyes, sending it to a place not even science can go to bring it back.

The lump in her throat chokes out a strangled sob as she tries desperately to call his name - to reach him. His gaping chest falls still, and his warm breath no longer brushes against her neck. She collapses her weight onto the body of her bleeding partner, and her hand frantically searches the pocket of her blood-soaked jacket for her phone. Tears steadily roll off her chin onto Peter's shoulder - the place she'd imagine them someday landing, but never like this.

She dials 9-1-1, leaving a trail of bloody fingerprints on the numbers she hopes will reach him in time.

Her soft, blood-soaked hands reaching into his chest suddenly grow limp when she feels the faint beat of his heart slow to merely a ghost of a heartbeat. She screams into the cracked screen before the telephone operator has a chance to answer.

"This is chief medical examiner Dr. Megan Hunt, and I need paramedics here, _now_!" she wails frantically, throwing the phone to the side before the operator even has a chance to reply.

Her gaze returns to the near lifeless body that lies in her lap. She strokes his hair, and a steady stream of tears falls from her once perfectly made-up face onto his cheek. She feels the warm pool of saline melt into her hand when they slip down the curve of his face.

"Oh, Peter," she whispers, barely audible.

His glassy eyes lift to meet hers. "I'm okay," he mumbles in a strangled voice. "I'm okay. I'm okay..." his voice trails off, slowly fading into the whispers of his name until there is only silence.

* * *

Megan's eyes pierce through the spot on the wall she's stared through for God knows how long. She sits perfectly upright on the sloping edge of her sofa, hair matted, and bandages forced upon her by the paramedics forming a blanket around her wrists. A blinking light in the corner catches her eye for just long enough to break the stare she holds on her wall.

She stiffly attempts to stand, pressing against her legs for leverage. She ignores the pain her bruises and cuts bring her and mindlessly makes her way over to a room temperature glass of water that still sits on her counter from this morning.

She reaches for the glass, hitting the "play" button on her answering machine in response to the red, blinking light when she passes it. Her muddy hand brings the warm glass of water to her overly-red lips as guilt-laced memories and regret spin her head into a fog.

The answering machine emits a high pitched "beep," only managing to slightly distract her from herself. "Hey Megan, you there?"

Peter's voice echoes through the kitchen, sending her chest into a sharp burn of loneliness and longing. The glass slips from her hand, shattering into a thousand wet pieces across the floor.

She clutches the machine with both hands, squeezing so furiously it's remarkable it doesn't break.

"It's me," Peter continues, his voice cracking through the machine from the tears that slip off Megan's cheek and fall into the speakers. "Don't know if you're there... I got a text saying you got held up at work, but I just-" his voice trails off, leaving Megan to cling to nothing but silence and muffled static. "I just wanted to make sure everything's okay. The text sounded kinda weird, so I just... I'ma stop by the office, see if you're there, so I uh.. if not, I guess I'll just see ya tonight."

And with a click and another high pitched "beep," he's gone without a "goodbye."

Megan sinks to the floor, ripping the machine's cord from the wall as she takes it down the cabinets and to the wooden floor with her.

She sits breathless for what seems like hours, her tear-soaked face frozen with surprise and grief, before the sobs begin to wrack her body.

Her chest and shoulders convulse, and her throat burns with sadness as she sits on her kitchen floor, alone, nobody home to hold the woman who usually does the holding.

A flood of tears falls from her eyes and clears her vision, revealing her hands resting limply on her lap. She stares at them, the once manicured fingernails now dirty and torn. She looks at her wrists and thinks about the gunshot residue she knows blankets her skin because she murdered a man. But mixed with the dirt, tears, and remnants of a weapon, she sees the thick, red layer that's washed over her hands, fingers, wrists, arms..

Peter's blood.

A new wave of tears chokes at her throat as her fingertips gently brush the palms of her own hands, soaking in the feeling of the last piece of the partner she couldn't save.

Memories flood her mind - his laugh, his smile, his eyes, his sarcasm, the way he held an umbrella for her in the rain.

She loved him.

She tried to save him.

She couldn't do it.

She's saved thousands of lives, brought peace to thousands of families, but she couldn't save the one life that mattered.

"I could've saved him..." she whispers to herself, barely audible. "If only I'd gotten up, gone inside, I could've saved him."

She pulls the kitchen towel from the sink to the floor and lays her head on top of it, absorbing the puddle of tears pooled on the wood.

She lies there motionless and numb until the sleepy rays of sunlight begin to shine through the window onto her bloody, dirt-caked arms.

Sleep weighs on her eyelids, until the memories of what somehow happened only hours ago slowly escape into the back of her mind.

Her consciousness slips away against the damp, tear-soaked towel still supporting her head against the hard floor.

"I loved you, Peter," she whispers into an empty room.

Her eyes fall closed as exhaustion consumes her, and Peter's presence moves into her as a blanketed warmth - wrapping itself around his blood and around the dirt.

Reality finally escapes her as sleep sets in, and the cold, hard ground silently sings her to sleep as she's held by the presence of a hug she can never return.


End file.
